


Swirls Of Yellow Paint

by knockoffguccibelt



Category: Clone High
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Child Abuse, Consensual Underage Sex, Fluff, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Horny Teenagers, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Painting, Smut, Therapy, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex, Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:55:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26639917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knockoffguccibelt/pseuds/knockoffguccibelt
Summary: School is fucking hard. Especially hard for a bullied, gay, boy with schizophrenia. Harder if that boys dad is an asshole.in other words, life for Vincent Van Gogh was pain in the ass.
Relationships: JFK/Vincent Van Gogh
Comments: 27
Kudos: 706





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ahahah i had 17 chapters, but then i reread them and decided to redo the chapters. this fic is my baby, so i just am going to rewrite them when im not high and sad. still will be angst. Because fuck you that's why. credit to my partner for editing the chapters due to my no spell.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edit: I got a little confused and mistook manic depression as schizophrenia, im really sorry, i would like to also say that his hallucination are due to trauma, which happens to people, But it can also be a symptom of bi-polar disorder. Please understand that im also not doing so great rn. thats not an excuse, and im really sorry, if you have to criticize, please say in the comments, but dont be a dick about it man, im just a fucking kid dude. Im a minor, and an alcoholic. Dog im just 16. idk how many times i have to say this, but if its that fucking bad, then dont read. this used to make me happy to write, it was a coping mechanism for me. im really sorry that it made people feel bad. that wasnt the point. Im going to rewrite some chapters so its a little more readble, but im sticking with the old fic, theirs going to be sex. read the tags.

_ The rustle of leaves is the only thing I can hear. _

It was such an odd feeling rose in his chest, the warm sun on his back brought comfort, and the smell of fall filled his senses with a dull-dull longing. It reminded him of the drives that he would take to get lost in his thoughts; his attention span was not that great. His mind bounced from thought to thought because of it and he knew he wasn't smart... But here in a field made the constant jumble of thoughts stop; it was peaceful and it made him smile.

He didn't want to open his eyes, he just wanted to enjoy the quiet, but his eyes opened on their own accord. He saw long grass that was always brown, even in spring. The bright but wilting prairie flower stuck out, and he could see large trees sticking out, spread far apart with varying colors of leaves.  _ It was… _ it took him a while to think of the word.  _ It was scenic.  _

In the light brown grass he saw a bed of sunflowers, he couldn't remember the harvest of most fall plants, even though his dumb ass lived in a large farming town. In the middle of the scene was a blur of blue and orange hair that stood in stark contrast. He felt his legs moving towards the figure; he didn't even want to stop. It felt normal in his head. Suddenly the warm scent of cigarette smoke and apricot filled his nose and he nearly melted from it. The short figure turned around and the deep voice of a scruffy teen cut through the rustle of fall. With the biggest smile he said “John!”

He was confused when two arms wrapped around his neck, making him lean down. In a second he felt a hard and warm pressure on his lips and his eyes closed. His head caught up with the sudden realization that he was being kissed, but his eyes fluttered shut like this was normal. Like kissing boys was normal. Like kissing this boy was normal. His hands settled on the teens slim hips. He had to stop his knees from buckling.

_ Is this what it felt like to be in love? _

As soon as it started it was over, his lips chased the ginger’s and his heart was beating out of his chest. A low giggle rang in his ears and the teen pressed their foreheads together. The trickle of warm breaths tickled his top lip. The teen had a slight accent but he said in the lightist voice:

“I love you.”

  
  
  


_ I’m not a huge fan of therapists. _

“Vincent, you're showing symptoms that fit into Manic depressive disorder. It's not too surprising, due to the fact that the real Van Gogh also had Bipolar disorder, but we will need to do an MRI to make sure. I think that we should fill out a prescription for now: probably seroquel.” She was talking to him like he was little. Like how his mom would talk to him: In a soft voice, like the one you would use to coo at a hurt bird. He wasn't a hurt bird. He was just… sick.

“Miss, my dad already said no to medication.” he said in a low voice to remind her. She didn't want her to ask. It would just help his dad's image of a crazy teen who was dangerous for others, foaming at the mouth ready to snap and bite; to growl and howl, scream and laugh. For fuck’s sake he wasn’t an animal. He was a fucking person. He wanted to sneer at just the thought, but he knew any attitude would lead to a lashing. He hated the metal clink of the belt; the threat of harm. He heard it in his head all the time: when his dad was gone, when he was in class, when he was hidden up in a tree three miles out of town. The doctor told him that it was just an auditory hallucination, but it made him want to scream in pure terror.

“I know but maybe i could persuade him.” she said kindly, but the words made him sick; to vomit.

He was fucking in for it tonight. He knew his back would be painted in red and purple, the harsher bruises leave behind a split piece of flesh. His shirts would sting when he put them on and any sweater would scratch him. He just hoped it didn't pus again. His dad made him ‘clean up the mess’ but god damn it was hard to patch up your own back.

He cursed this lady, it wasn't even her fault, he would be in less pain if she could fucking shut her mouth.


	2. Chapter 2

_ The car ride home was awful. _

His mother was shaking her hands, gripping her skirt tightly, Well his father would glare at him throughout the rearview mirror every so often. He traced swirls into overalls looking out the window, squinting his eyes so the street lights and traffic lights looked like stars and everything else stayed blurred. he The corner of his lip tipped up words into a smile, thinking who great it would look on a canvases. His train of thought was stopped by the noise of their garage door opening.

He sat up and unbuckled his seat belt, opening the car door and soon as It was parked and dashed off to his room. the blue walls calm him slightly, as he walks to his bed, pulling out his sketchbook out and smiling fondly at the cover. Opened it to an empty page and started drawing how he saw the world through the flutter of his eye lashes. He felt so calm, he let himself forget about the stress. Until there was a knock at the door.

"sweetie I have some leftovers for you." Vincent took a deep breath to calm himself before opening the door. There his foster mom stood holding out a plate. The dinner that his parents had was on a plate. It was cold and watery. He grabbed the plate from her quivering hands. 

He shut the door after muttering a ‘thank you’ and promptly dumped the paper plate in his trash. He grabbed his wallet, his tool kit, and his easl, and crawled out the window. It needed to be fixed and he needed food. He walked to the fast food joint; the walk was great. Summer is over and fall has started. The wind was cool, but it caressed his beard and made his eyes water.

When he saw the dinner he sighed. He hated having to talk to his peers. They sneered at him. Laughed at his messy hair or his dark purple eye bags. He hoped that he didn't have to face anyone. He didn't think he could take it. His day was already shity and he was going to get his shit beat out of him already. He just wanted to eat and then go hang out in the park.

He walked through the doors walking up to the counter, just ordering a plain burger, he didn't need something extravagant, just food. Vincent saw Joan of arc smiling at him. He smiled back softly, happy to see a friend. She was kind to him, and she never hurt him. That to him was a blessing from god. He walked over to the table and greeted her with a small wave and a slight smile. Abe was with her, and Gandhi was sitting next to her. He didn't care for the boys to much. Gandi would make nasty jokes about and Abe would laugh. God, what a dick.

“Hey Gogh, working on anything new?” Joan was talking kindly to him, and he went off about how the world looks so beautiful when you look at it through your eye lashes. Gandi’s snicker made him stop talking. He remembered that he was talking excitedly and loudly. He frowned and clutched his sketchbook to his chest.

“Uh… there's my food…” he forced a smile for her again. 

she nodded her head slightly. “I'll see you at school…” if he was still alive. She kicked gandi hard under the table and glared at him fiercely. He thought about how shy and timid he normally was. He wonders if it looked odd.

He grabbed his food, paying. He wanted something to kill time. He just wanted an excuse to drink but still. He left with his head down. He’s not drunk enough for this.

_ He was just as pretty as he was in his dreams _

His red wavy hair bounced when he walked, and his beard showed of his sharp jawline and his thin, long neck. The way his blue eyes showed with a wet tremble, scared and mad. Like a beautiful storm. He didn't want to think like this. He begged his brain to cut this shit out. He was with cleo. Fucking Cleopatra, the hottst broad in school. But he can't stop thinking about a boy. God he didn't even want to talk to his dads about this. Cleo was talking but he didnt care. He could even bring himself to try to keep fucking her. It's fine. She had her eyes on abe. Should she question her taste in men? Yes. will he? Also yes.

He heard her get up. The clink of her heels told him she was going to flirt with abe. He just stood. He was sore from football. And basketball. And track. But he walked out the door. She could handle the bill. He just didn't want to deal with her.

John wanted to follow the boy but reminded himself how creepy that is. He just went home instead. He needed to think anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

_ He crawled through his window _

Vincent stumbled home, holding his stomach. He didnt mean to get so drunk. He got as far as his bathroom, before vomiting in the sink. His dad is going to beat him. He coulndnt keep doind this. Just letting it happen. Why won't his mom help. He couldn't afford another. It would kill him, his eyes watered and before he could stop himself he a wrecked sob echoed throughout the empty room, bouncing on the tiles. He could hear the voices; the auditory hallucinations as his doctor would say.

The walls go black, he panics. The walls never turn black, he never sees things that aren't there. A voice tells him that everyone knows. Panic blossoming in his chest as he vomits again, before scrambling off the floor and to his room, smearing the vomit on his face with the back of his hand. 

He heard his dad's heavy footsteps. People normally think only drunk dads hit their kids. No sober dad would ever do that to his child. But he wasn't ‘fathers’ child. He was a dutch painter who grew in a tube. He was the failure faggot with Bipolar disorder. His dad regrets signing the forms. Letting the pest into his home. A red headed freak.

***

When his dad was done, with his punishment(which was twenty lashes). He collapsed on the bed. He laid on his front because his back hurt but no matter how he tried to fall asleep, something screamed out telling him to move. A bruise, or a scratch, but his back was the worst. He knew it was bleeding. He had no shirt on so it would stain his sheets. Another ten lashes. He tried to move but his back wouldn't let his.

he shakes so hard as he sob that you would have assumed there was an earthquake. His breaths came in raspy and quick. His chest hurts. the voices won't be quiet, they keep telling him to do horrible things and, the worst part is that he is considering it. He scared himself. He sobbed at the sounds of a clinking belt,but in his head he found a single thought.  _ Call joan. _

Vincent shot up, not caring about the pain and protest his body made. He scrambled for his phone and shakely dialed her number, pressing the flip phone to his dirty, disgusting face. it rang twice before he heard a noisy blast of music and Joan shouting over it “Vincent? What's wrong?”

“Joan please you need to help- i cant- i please.” he voice was rushed and panicked, raw from the screams and sobs. He was shaking. “Please i don't know what to do-” his voice hitched and he let our a dry sob

“Vincent calm down, tell me what happened” She was worried, and sounded like she was in a noisy crowd. He didn't know how he could get help, or how he could ask.

“I’m so tired.” he whimpered out. He didn't know what to do.

“Vincent, you're drunk. Just lie on your side.” she sounded distracted, and then she rushed out “oh god, I need to go”

she hung up on him.

He can't stay here.

He stood up with a headache, and walked to the bathroom. He looks in the mirror and cringes. He was covered in nasty bruises, and he was bleeding. his chest was covered in fine, red hair and he could see the slight muscles he got every summer from working on Oma's farm.

He missed his Oma and Opa. When he was a little boy, his foster dad would send him off to his Grootouders farm, letting him stay until school. his Opa taught him to paint, even though his ancestor was a master, and they would go to the orchard and pick apricots. Some days he would stay with his Oma and help her make pie and jams. Then they would go pick rocks, or water her garden. But what he missed most was their dog. A Saint Bernard named Oliver. When he first came there Oliver was just a pup, and they became friends. Vincent didn't have many growing up, so Olly became his best friend. As he grew so did Olly, they would go help Opa plow the field together, or play near the trees. Every year the work got harder, but every year he got to see his best friend for the whole summer.

He rubs the tears out of his eyes, because he'll be going back next year, He just had to get through this. Turning around quickly so he didn't have to self reflect anymore, he stepped into the shower, letting the scolding water turn his skin red. As he started to wash himself he got rougher, and rougher, until his skin felt raw. The blood left him stained, but it all came out fine otherwise. When he got out, steam turned the room white. The voice was back. He groans shouting loudly, " _ shut up! _ " It becomes quiet in his mind again and he growled out a laugh.

he comes back to his room, and wraps his back up, making sure he was bleeding too much. he puts on a white tee, no giving a fuck if hes bleeding through the fabric, and shoves some baggy jeans on. He climbed out the window, walking to the liquor store. He paid, and they never asked his age. He looked and felt a lot older than sixteen. It was the beard. He got the rum he usually got shitfaced on. Now he just needed a spot to drink. 

He doesn't know where he is walking until he hears loud music and cheering. Walking towards the noise wasn't hard, but the night goes cold and he shivers. This was JFKs house. Vincent didn't know there was a party today, but he doesn't talk a lot in school. For some reason instead of turning back he walked into the gardens of hell. He felt out of place, but maybe the house was warmer. The creak of the door goes unnoticed by the chattering teens in the room, the place wasn't packed but the kids were talking loud. He walked to the kitchen which was empty, and sat on the floor, no one was in here and the wall paper reminded him of his Oma. he hums a tune that he couldn't remember the lyrics to, and tapped his fingers on the floor to the beat. 

Why the fuck was he here. On JFKs floor, in the kitchen humming a dumb song, at a packed party. he hated people. Well he didn't hate JFK, Kennedy was the pretty boy that he had thought about before. He wonders what it would be like to hold his hand, or to sit in his car laughing at some radio ad, or to kiss his cheek after a nice date. Just dreams thought. JFK only fucks girls, and he doesn't date anyone seriously. Dreams were a better place than reality. His reality fucking sucks. And the reality was, He was a little freak drinking rum that he bought with the rest of his paycheck and shifting so his injuries wouldn't cry out. He wished his dad just fucking killed him already. 


	4. Chapter 4

_ This beer is trash. _

JFK stood on his porch watching the crowd of drunk people clamor together, dancing and laughing at their own jokes. Not like he's much better, but at least he's not a lightweight. He dropped his red solo cup and smashed the plastic with his foot. Walking into the dining room, using the back door, he walked into the kitchen, looking for his dad's vodka. Once he found it, he spun around and flinched in shock, an apricot hair boy with half empty bottle rum, but he looked completely sober. This was the kid from the park, from his dream. He didn't know whether to run or to ask him for his number.

The boy was tapping his fingers on the floor and studying the floor with a scowl. John really wished for his heart to stop beating so fast. The kid took a large swig and mumbled “i shoulda bought more.” He stood with a wince, the back of his shirt, which was supposed to be white, Covered in blood; it was sticking to his back. It was still bleeding. The red head didn't seem to notice. Or even worry. He just kept drinking, he's probably irish because after a whole bottle of hard liquor like it was a bud light. 

His eyes have seen something wrong, glazed over as he looked at John. He had a scruffy beard and deep purple eye bags. He was thin, pale skin that looked sickly. Somehow his face burned up the second he saw JFK, even though he was so bloody. John kept himself calm, but his head was loud, some sections of his brain as,the red head took a step back slightly remembering that he was bleeding. He let himself walk over, backing the teen into a wall. A voice trembled as his back pressed against the wall, his face scrunched with pain and he pants slightly “W-what are you doi-ing?”

John leaned down to let their lips brush softly, The teens breath shaky and warm, the smell of booze heavy on his breath; The red head leans in to him pressing his lips to his softly, no moving his mouth, as if asking for him to take the lead, so John does, slowly moving his lips obsessed with the chapped, bitten lips, a warm pink, and the flush of red that spread on the teens face, red from the kiss and the alcohol. His taste made John's knees weak, The taste of cinnamon, cigarettes and warm rum. Their lips moved together in sync, and the teens blue eyes flutter shut, his lashes resting on his sharp cheeks. John's eyes also shut, even though he wanted to mesmerise the boy's face, keep him close.

The teen shifted and pressed his body against JFKs wrapping his arms around his neck, and standing on his toes, to reach John's mouth better. John rested his palms at the wall, caging the boy in his arms. There was no tongue and no teeth clashing; Just slow lazy kisses and soft noises from the teen under him. The rough feeling of the beard and the curved nose brushing against John's cheek was addictive. They were so absorbed in each other that they didn't hear the door open and slam. The thud of combat boots was heavy and a girl's voice made Vincent flinch away.

“JFK, your pool is-why in the name of the lord is Vincent doing under you.” She walked over to him, used to JFK pressing girls into walls, but her voice cut off and she saw the teens blushing face and swollen and bruised lips.

The teen, Vincent , went pale. “We should… Continue this elsewhere…”

“I agree.” John rasped out

One minute they were pressed against each other and the next there sprinting away from Joan; Vincent leading John by holding his hand they passed houses, and houses, until He looked behind them with a smile on his face, seeing Joan wasnt after them, and slowed down to a walk. Keeping John's hand in his Vincent led them into a dimly lit park, giggling.

“Did you see her face?” he snorted and then slapped a hand to his mouth and looked away, his ears red.

“I may be Murdered monday.” John said with a huff of a laugh. He barely knows this kid, but he's blushing like a virgin… But his smile made him weak. He’d follow the little devil anywhere, as long as he got to keep holding his hand. 

Vincent gave him an odd look “I hope not” there was more silence and there Vincent when face redder than an apple, before sputtering out “Okay that sounded weird-”

“Were holdin hands in a dark park.” This was literally a date. John didn't mind the thought. It was actually a good idea. “This is a date.”

“Uh- wait, what?”

JFK nodded his head.

“You. take me. Out? Says the guy who's never even been on a date?”

It was his own turn to blush “Yes i Have! Like that one time…” oh wait. Fuck.

Vincent just laughed and bumped his shoulder into Johns. Fuck, he would kill for that laugh. His smile made his eye crinkles.

“Maybe,” John let go of his hand and wrapped an arm around Vincent's shoulder without looking at him and smiled “you’ll let me try.”

“Maybe i will” He says in a slightly sassy voice.

They did this sort of joking banter for a while before JFK went to move his hands down to his waist, and felt the dry, flaky blood on his tee shirt, still a little wet. Vincent flinched so hard out of John arms, and fell hard on his back. He screamed in pain with glossy eyes. He scrambled up and away 

“Vincent-” before he could finish the sentence, Vincent panicked and kissed him hard to shut him up. John just kissed back, enjoying his mouth on his. 

Vincent pulled away just enough to say “you know the best way to end a date“ slowly kissing John “you should walk me home.” John looked at him, and got a hard on at the mischievous smirk that spread on Vincent's face as he bit and pulled on his lips.

The walk home from the park was fast, With Vincent leading him again. When they got there the party was over and everyone had left. They headed to John's room and the door slammed shut.


	5. Chapter 5

_ Oh lord he's going to split me in half _

Vincent didn't think this would be his first, but he's not going to say anything. He was pressed against another wall, with his legs around John's waist and good Lord was he a good kisser. JFK's erection felt huge against ass, but he didn't want to get cold feet. 

The mouth on his face went to his neck, leaving hickeys. "Ah-ah-JFK, no hickeys”, he moaned again as John bit him hard. "Good Lord i'm going to get beat when I go home."

JFK must have thought it was a joke, because he didn't even stop. It was like he was making a collar for Vincent, so people would know that he's John's bitch.

Vincent's head hit the wall as he moaned "s _ hirt off" _ quickly pulling at JFK's shirt. He could barely wait for the shirt to go over John's head, before grabbing the teens face with his hands and pulling him in for a harsh kiss.

John must have wanted to see Vincent's body too, because he ripped the shirt off the boy before throwing him onto the bed the bandages on his back showed on his chest, but the wounds scabbed over so he teared at them until they were off and on the floor.

They wanted- no needed to have skin on skin. They both kicked off their jeans before JFK practically stalked his was over to the bed, and in a flash he was over Vincent smashing their lips together. 

Vincent patted john's arm and said "let me ride you please." The way he whimpered it made the tent in John's boxer grow tighter.

He rolled them over so Vincent was straddling him. He grinded their erections together. He spoke again " do you use condoms?"

John's voice was seeping with lust "yeah, everytime."  
“Grab the lube." He commanded. Finely something he knows how to do, he poured a good amount on his fingers before reaching back, pulling his underwear down enough to stick two fingers in. He whimpered, he was not warmed up enough for this, but good god he needed that cock in him. Before he even got used to two fingers there were four in his tight heat. He grunted softly and road his finger throughout the burn until it was more fucking himself in his fingers and less like tourcir.

"You're clean?" He moaned out pulling out his hand and pulling JFK'S and his underwear.

"Yeah, wh-" john was cut off when lube was poured onto his cock.

"Good, me too." Vincent Sat down quickly letting out a sharp cry at the burn "holy fuck-ah-shit," he tried to pull it together a little "your going to split me in half" 

Johns was panting "fuck your tight."

Vincent rolled his hips even though it hurt so much. he moaned lowly, learning to enjoy the burn. He lifted himself up slightly before sitting back down, riding John in tiny bounces. He moved the rest his hands on John's chest. as he bent over slightly he felt a brush on his prostate, as moaned loudly. 

He started to bounce again and saw stars in his eyes. " Oh-oh fuck! Ca- i- please I need more!" He could barely talk. He was so full and so warm.

John took the hint and thrusted his hip up in short powerful movements. Vincent fucking melted and fell forward barying his face him John's chest hair and clinging to his shoulders. His nails digged in, and he was sure it was going to mark him. He only held in tighter as John grabbed his hips and set a brutal pace. 

Vincent's eyes rolled back into his head and he was drooling, as he moaned and mewled. If sex with John was always this good, he wouldn't even mind being john's fucktoy. As john's pants louder and he felt john's cock throbbed inside if him, he said "inside ple-"

He screamed as John pounded into his prostate and poured out inside of his stomach.

He came into John's abs before they heard a garage door open.

"It's just my gay foster dads." He murmured as he rolled over so he was resting on top of Vincent.

"Shouldn't you be a little more worried?" He hoursely said.

"They won't come into my room, unless they thought someone died."

His door slammed open and two men ran in, the one with a tattoo said gruffly "we heard screaming, oh wait-"

"Honey look at our little baby! With another boy! Oh dear were so proud sweetie-" 

“Dads" John groaned, embarrassed that his dad's walked in on him after fucking a guy.

"Aw shush what's your name baby? Honey, look how cute that boy is, john knows how to pick them" that man with the tattoos nodded his head.

"Uh? Vincent…?" The red head was a little confused and weirder out, he had his crushes soft cock in him, and hes meeting there fucking dads? Is this a fever dream? This was really fucked.

“Okay, well, we’ll leave you two little love birds alone.”

As steps retracted Vincent smacked JFKs arm, “Dude what the fuck?” 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> half chapter. Just for a little bit of flavor. a little bit of spice.

The next morning when Vincent had to leave before John would wake was freezing. He didn't even bring a coat. This made it hard to sneak out of bed, He didn't even want to untangle their limbs, and limp home to his cold room. But he couldn't stay. This was a one night thing, and he knew that. He wouldn't let his feelings make it more that it was. But he smiled at the thought of waking up like this every morning. Fucked out and palatent. Curled up on JFKs strong chest.

He groaned as he stood, and felt the sharp sparks of pain flare up his hips. He should have prepared more. It felt like his ass was ripped. He walked to his jeans and boxers and struggled with them, letting out short, punched breaths, as he got dressed. 

Vincent really wanted to call it quits and go curl up with the human radiator, but he was already dressed in all of his clothes. His shirt is useless, still damp and thin. He let out a frustrated moan. He needed to use his fucking brains before he goes on a drinking rampage. He didn't want to walk home in the middle of fall practically shirtless and… JFK has lots of sweaters, and.... Vincent needs one right now…. He won't notice one missing….. Will he?

Vincent decided that he’ll steal a sweater and give it back later. It made the walk home bearable. 

When Vincent next woke there was hands at his throat and loud screaming. His father was looming over him, telling him how much of a whore he was, bule in the face with rage. Vincent's eyes narrowed as he tried and failed to suck a breath of air in. His knobby hands reached up to scratch at the tight heavy fists. Tears trailed down his face, as he tried to scramble away. 

This is where he dies. Vincent didn't want to die. He knew he had a bad run. He didn't see a way out of it. There's no outs this time. His fingers started to feel numb, as he let his arms drop. Let his eyes roll back. This was it. The last thing he would see and hear was his father screaming about how whorish he was, and how he wished he did this sooner. Everything went black.

_ Shit where did he- _

John was used to waking up alone, but he was really wishing that wasn't the truth. But he stood regardless. His little pea brain just hoped he would see the teen again soon. Wouldn't be too hard. This was a small town.


	7. Chapter 7

_ I didn't see him until Tuesday. _

JFK looked out for red hair and blue eyes. He couldn't catch a glimpse of the short teen. He found him Tuesday, slouching and trying to hide himself from the world. His hair was messy And wild. JFK took the long stride across the hallway to him and grabbed his arm, pulling him to the nearest bathroom.

John turns to look at the teen and sees his pale face and teary eyes. He's shaking. John cant even find the words to begin to describe Vincent. His eyes were glassy and red, his skin was sickly pale, his hands were shaking. He was gnawing on his lower lip, to the point of bleeding. The worst part was his neck. JFK expected to see his hickeys, hell he was looking forward to it. Seeing that he claimed him in some form made his cock throb. But what he saw made him pale, both now looking like ghosts.

“Vincent… your neck…” he was at a loss for words, which didn't happen often. He could always fill the spaces of silence. but his heart was hammering in his chest. It was deep purples, greens and blues. He could see the stops where the chubby fingers sat, and the claw marks that Vincent probably made on accident. 

“I-I know… just…” his voice was raw and each word had to hurt. John reached his hand out and he flinched hard. He changed the subject. “Why did you pull me in here?”

John was dumb but he knew they needed to stay on the topic at hand his voice when low, and he steeled himself “What happen Vincent?” the terror bloomed into rage. “Who did this.”

“we're not talking about this.” Now Vincent was getting defensive, and the short redhead had a temper; he was known for it in fact. He spoke with a sneer “we barely know each other.”

John ran a hand down his face “We are going to talk about this, i shouldn't even be the first person to try and talk to you about it! You're neck has hand marks on it for fuck sake!”

“It's none of their business!” He was livid “It's none of your business either! It's not like you´re my boyfriend!”

“Damn it, Vincent! I want to be!”

There was a pause.

Just a beat where they both narrowed their eyes in surprise.

Then John was shoved against a wall. Vincent held him there with surprising strength. The teen stood on his toes and harshly bit JFKs neck, leaving a brutal hickey. “God your so fucking lucky.” Another bite “When i came back with hickeys I got in some deep shit.” Another rough hickey “But your dads don't even care.” His voice cracked at the last sentence. John saw that he was still angry and had frustrated tears threatening to drop.

“Vinc-” John was cut off with a hand grabbing him by the back of the neck and pulling him down into a rough kiss. He wasn't in a position to refuse. His hands came up to cup Vincent's cheeks, His thumbs brushing down his sharp cheekbones. 

Vincent pulled John by the shirt into a stall. The first period bell rang. Vincent pulled away and locked the stall pushing JFK to the other wall, not even having to stretch his arm out completely in the crampe stall. His eyes were dark and his face showed a whole variety of emotions but the ones that stuck out the most was the anger and lust. 

“Maybe you can make it up to me.” He craned his neck up so John could see the ugly bruises. “I mean I did tell you no hickeys.”

John's face lit up. He really just wanted to take Vincent on a nice date and that won´t happen if he's pissed, with his signature grin he said “what can i do for ya?” 

“Eat me out.” his voice was final.

“I-what?”

“You heard me. Eat. Me. Out.”

This isn't Kennedy's first rodeo. He's done a lot of things. All with girls to be fair. There was never a cock in the equation. But he… wanted to do it. For the first time in his life he just wanted to please his partner. He would be fine if Vincent left him in the bathroom, hard and wanton.

He slid to his knees and started to unbutton the teens jeans tugging them and the boxers off. His half flaccid cock hung in front of him, in a nest of curly red hairs. Vincent looked surprised but stepped out of his bottoms regardless.

In a low voice John spoke “hold on.”

Vincent was going to ask but he got caught off by his own startled squeak when John lifted him up, folding him in half, but holding him high enough that he could get under him. Another surprised noise ripped from the teens throat as he felt JFK's flat tongue lapped at his puckered hole, just teasing him. Vincent squirmed over him and let out sharp pants.

When Johns tongue breached his entrance he let out a sharp whine well saying “I-I didn't expect yo to say yes- fuck!”

John hummed inresponce as he started to fuck him in yernest. The sharp whines, loud cries and needy mewls where even more motivating. Vincent was scrambling to find purchase on the bathroom stalls wall, but the plastic had nothing for him to hold onto, so he settled for nesting his hands in johns styled curls. When John's tongue found the bundle of nerves inside of the teen, Vincent arched his back with a loud high-pitched moan that was loud enough John was sure the classes next door heard them. Vincent's hand flew up to cover his mouth as John abused his prostate. 

Vincent and John stilled as someone walked in. the sound of a zipper rung in the silent bathroom. John slowly started to move his tongue again and Vincent hitched his breath. When John brushed his tongue against the teens prostate again, Vincent let out a high pitched whine. He smacked JFK'S head as a punishment, grumbling under his breath  _ asshole. _

Vincent feels him snicker against his ass, as a voice calls out. “JFK? Fuck, is Cleo in there? i swear-” Vincent and john both groan out of sheer annoyance. He can look over the stall door with how tall he is.

Vincent repeatedly smacks John's head in a slight panic. Just because JFKs dads are gay doesn't make the whole town accepting of  _ fairys.  _ JFK gets the warning, and gets the teen standing quickly. 

“I have an idea,” he murmured. Vincent knocks his head on the stall. 

“If you say  _ that _ , we are so fucked” he hissed in a whisper. “If we get caught, i will literally fucking die.”

If John was not concerned about Vincent's homelife, he sure as shit is concerned now. Fuck. he sighed and talked in his normal volume “Dude, fuck off.”

The teen under him banged his head against the shitty plastic wall. John covered Vincents mouth with his hand before he could start talking too.

“Where's Cleo JFK!” abes voice cracked in the worst way

“She's in her first period class.”

“Oh yeah?” this guy needs to get his dick wet, he sounds like a band kid.“Then who is in the stall with you!”

“Uh…” Vincent looks up at him with a glare and bites his hand. “Ow! Fuckin- its-”

“A Guy.” The red head says with the back of his throat and a deep tone. “Go wash your hands and leave.”

Abe is now most likely startled, but the two cant see his face. He did it though.

The redhead in the stall, and under him pushed him off. “You’re such a fucking idiot.” he grabs a wad of toilet paper and cleans himself off. His erection was deflating, Abe was a mood killer and a cock block. John was kicking his ass for this.”if they figure out that was me, i'll need to crash on your couch.”


	8. Chapter 8

_ Fucking christ. _

He hated a lot of things right now. He hated Abe for being the biggest boner killer on earth. He hated JFK for his stupid fucking smile. He hated how hard it was to be pissed at JFK. He hated how sober he was. He really hated the fact that he ran out of cigarettes. Vincent just fucking prayed that he didnt have to deal with anyone else. He has shit to do after school and he really doesn't want another confrontation from Joan telling him  _ Smoking kills! _ and  _ drinking is bad!  _ He just was so tired of everyones bullshit.

_ For fuck sake im just horny and sober. Leave me alone. _

And with the most deadliest glare, people were in no rush to talk to him. He left two periods before school got out, to pick up more smokes and booze. Gotta have a good stash. He couldn't go home. He just couldn't. So instead he just walked around. It's not like he could really get lost. He's lived in this town his whole life. So walking it was. He put earbuds in and played some loud music. Just to fill the silence.

He only stopped when he heard a car horn honk. He turned to look at the car and saw JFKs van. Vincent pulled out his earbuds and walked over to the car waiting for JFK to roll the window down. “What are you doing here, JFK”

“Call me john.” he smiled

“Okay  _ john _ , what are you doing here.” Vincent hissed out. A voice in the back of his head told him not to be upset. He never listened to the damn thing.

“Driving around. Get on in.” Vincent narrowed his eyes in surprise and suspensions. Did he want to get in the car with  _ john _ ? The easy answer would be no, but he felt his face flush at the thought to this being a date of sorts. Did he want to go home? Also no.

“...” Vincent sighed and reached for the car door, opening it “fine.” he climbed in and set his plastic bag down in the front before shutting the door. He decided to not buckle up. It's nothing.

When John got moving again Vincent spoke up in a monotone voice “you're not kidnapping me, right?”

JFK just laughed “should i?”

VIncent scoffed and rolled his eyes but found himself smiling nonetheless “ sure dickhead, go for it.”

John laughed and continued the banter, him and Vincent just going back and forth. Vincent looked out the window to see a park, parking lot. John did a shit parking job and turned the car off. 

“Fuck, this is the part in the movie where you kill me.” Vincent said, still trying to hold on to the anger from the morning. 

“No but we can't drink in the back, I have seats back there.”

“But can we smoke?” it did not smell like smoke in this car but it was getting colder out and he would rather stay in the car, but he needed a smoke. 

JFK shrugged “sure.” he got out of the front seat to open the door in the back and climb in, and Vincent climbed back over the console grabbing the plastic bag.

He pulled out his cigarettes and the three bottles of cheap vodka. He pulled out a cancer stick and lit it, and inhaled. He blew out the smoke towards John's face. He coughed and waved his hand in front of him to clear the smoke. JFK was clearly annoyed as he opened a vodka bottle and took a big gulp wincing slightly at the burn. Vincent took it from him and took a swig. They passed it back and forth til the bottle was empty. Then Vincent just lit another cigarette and inhaled. This is what Vincent needed. There's one more thing that would end his night well. And he knows how to get it.

Vincent held back a laugh as he got closer to John and blew his puff of smoke in his face. He glared at him but didn't do anything about it. Vincent moved into the teens lap and took a long drag before blowing the smoke into John's face.

A hand reached up and caught his jaw in a harsh hold “cut that out.”

Vincent let out a deep giggle. He removed the hand from his face with a soft touch, and leaned forward to kiss John, catching his lips. He let himself drunkenly smile against his lips, as they moved their mouths together. He snuffed out his cigarette on the wall of the van, as John pushed his chest back. 

“Before, the best part of the date,” Vincent fucking knew it, his face burned and he blushed to his hairline. “Your neck. What happened?” 

Vincent went to move back, but JFKs hands found his narrow hips and kept him still, he averted his eyes. He couldn't find the same rage. Maybe it was the alcohol. “JFK, please…” he looked at his hands that were resting on John's chest “just drop it.”

“Vincent.”

“It's not your problem, you don't need to get involved-” he was cut off by a stern voice

“I want to.”

Vincent rested his head on John's chest, “you barely know me.”

John moved to rest his hand on Vincent's head, stroking his hair like he's a cat. “I want to.” he murmured

“let's just keep going on weird dates when we’re drunk, and having fun after. Lets just keep it like this for a while.” Vincent's voice cracked “please.”

There was a pause. The air was still. John's chest rumbled when he spoke “okay. We'll try."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahahaha im back bby <3!! here is my tumbler boyss
> 
> https://knockoffguccibelt420.tumblr.com

This is… really nice… 

It was getting colder, and a blanket of snow covered the ground and the trees, and you would be able to see your breath. It wasn't hard for Vincent to smile, he loved the winter, the way his cheeks go rosey and the quiet it left in the night. Everyone was tucked up in their sheets, and Vincent always found himself in awe of the town, with the glow of yellow lights that reflected on the snow, making the area light up. He wondered if this was something the real Vincent Van Gogh would like.

Almost every night Vincent would sneak out his window to JFK’s arms, letting the teen lead him away to hidden spots so they could kiss or dick around, throwing snow and laughing. It only got sexual a few times. They would drink, and curled in JFK’s bed. Tonight was no different, It was a saturday. His dad got upset with him Friday for losing his math homework. His back was sore and puffy but not bloody like last time.

He smiled anyway and shoved a sweater on with a scarf. HE opened his window but shut it quickly as his door handle shook. He threw the scarf into a corner. “Yes?” Vincent called out, his voice cracking. 

“Unlock your fucking door!” his dad shouted. Vincent paled. He didn't want more bruises. His door shook with an angry knock “I know what you're doing! Sneaking out! The lady next door told me!” Vincent let out a scared sob. “Is it to meet with some boy! She says She sees you with a boy every time! You fucking faggot! Open your damn door!”

The pounding gets louder until the door flies open the lock falling off. Vincent was grabbed by the scruff of his neck and thrown on the bed. He hears the belt clink He manages to get out “Please, no!” before his father ripd the sweater off him. He heard the snap of the belt on his back. The first strikes didn't even register in his head. It's the hard smack that split a deep cut in his back , when the pain hits him all at once. He feels sick, and he gags between screams. He didn't even think he was crying anymore. He didn't know how many times his back was split open before his dad did something new, rolling him over onto his back, his chest facing up. His father hit his chest with the belt with the heaviest whips he hever felt.

“You embarrass me! You leave to go drink and Let some boy use you like a cum dumpster! You stupid fucking fag!” He turned his head over and vomited. His dad growls and grabs him by the neck leading him to the bathroom well shouting for Vincent's mother. She rushed in and he looked at her sternly before looking at Van Gogh “if you want to date a boy so bad then your mother will help you look the part.” he lightly pushes her towards him, well handing her a razor.

Vincent's eyes widens as his mother walks towards him with a grim look on her face. He can see that she's revolted just as the site of him. She wetted the razor before holding his jaw tightly “What-t are you do-doing-” he cut himself off as she started to shave his short but managed beard. It was the only thing that kept looking ‘manly’ finally, tears drop, as his face becomes clear and his cheeks and jaw are smooth, his ivory skin peaking out. Once it was gone his dad moved from the door.

“Maybe youre stupid fucking boyfreind can pretend your a girl now. Flip you over and close his eyes.” Vincent squeezes his eyes shut as his sensitive skin gets backhanded. His dad growled out “Go to your room. If you try to sneak out again I'll finish the job.”

He doesn't remember bolting and shutting the door to his room or packing two bags. One with all his art supplies filling his portfolio with finished and unfinished painting, shoving his jeans and sweaters into another bag. He forgets his shirt as he takes his things and scrambled out the window falling into the snow. He sprinted to John's home not even noticing his blood freezing to his back.

He gets there and slams on the door, Crying in relief as JFKs dad, Wally, opens the door. Wally can barely get a word out before Vincent collapses into his arms, sobbing  _ he’s going to kill me, he said so. _ Carl walks out to see the commotion and gets him inside, shutting the door.

“Baby, what happened?” Wally says, little stunned. Vincent just shakes his head twice.

Carl says softer than normal “what do you think. Vincent let me get you patched up.” Carl has to pry him off his husband and move him to the bathroom Wally following behind closely. Vincent grabs onto the doorway dryly sobbing out a plea not to hurt him, because he's sorry. He didn't mean it. He’ll do better. It takes them the better part of two hours to patched up and him calmed down enough to explain himself. Wally called JFK to come home.

When he got there he rushed to Vincent “Are you okay? What happened, baby? Was it-”

“John you're scaring the poor boy.” Carl cut him off. Wally got up with his phone saying he's calling the cops.

“You can't. He’ll get me.” Vincent says. “He told me if i wanted to date a boy so bad that i needed to look the part, and-and that im just a whore faggot. I can't control it.” Vincent started to cry again. “I ran like a fucking pussy, i didnt wan to hurt anymore.”

Wally gives him a stern look before leaving the room to call the cops, Vincent flinches and nears falls out of his chair. He could feel his cheek swelling. John put a chair next to him.holding the teen to his chest muttering “you don't have to explain. Lets go sit on the sofa, yeah?”

Vincent stood and let Kennedy lead him to the couch. John was gentle. Vincent finally started to feel safe as his ear sat on John's chest, listening to his breath. His eyes shut as he muttered in a scratchy voice “I look gross. They cut off my beard. I really look like a fag.” he didnt have tears left. All the panic and fear left him all at once making him feel tired, numb, just a broken teen pressed against the person that he was falling for.

A cop showed up, a young black officer. He told her in a numb voice everything that happened, what his dad said word for word, how long this has been going on, and showing her the proof etched into his skin, the only time he's voice started to shake is when he told her that he was going to kill him. It ended as quickly as it started. He shut his eyes, as he curled in John's arms. He was so tired. 

When he woke he was in John's bed, John covering him like a blanket. All the fear and self loathing was gone, replaced with the carnal need to prove his father wrong. He lifted his face up to kiss John, bringing his hands to hold his face, brushing his thumbs on his cheeks. John woke up confused, but slowly kissed back. John was a good kisser, and he loved the full attention that John put on him. His hands moved down his neck brushing down his back before loosely wrapping his arms around his neck. He giggles as Kennedy kisses his face, leaving Vincent blushing and red as JFK mouthed over his jaw. He let out a breathy moan, sighing content.

“Good morning,” Vincent wraspes out, exposing his neck for John to kiss.”did you sleep well?” he says with feigned innocence.

John pulled back to shake his head and laugh as tight, unstyled, curls fell into his eyes. “I slept well, but I had a great breakfast in bed.” VIncent let out a sharp gasp as a dry finger bretches him. It thrusted in and out slowly. 

He whined at the burn. John stands, walking over to his bedside table grabbing his lube and undressing both of them then crawling over Vincent, spreading his long legs and sitting in between them. He coats his hands before continueing to fuck him with one finger. His fingers are so big, they're like two of his own fingers. It felt good and he cried out when another two fingers were added. It hurt, it was all too much. He turned his head to the side, staying quiet.

When John took his fingers out he missed the pain, it was better than feeling so empty. The teen on top of him mutters "you ready, doll?"

Vincent nodded and looked back at John watching his face shift as he slowly buried himself to the hilt. This felt so… different from his first time, he was drunk and everything felt foggy, and it was rushed, clothes being ripped off, teeth clashing, just a quick, rushed fuck. But here he could look at his… lover? His lover in the eyes, feel the stretch in full. It felt really intimate. His hands scramble to Johns forearms when he rolls his hips and grinds into him, after moaning softly. 

“You feel bigger…” Vincent mutters blushing brightly as John slightly thrusts into him, barely moving.”you feel good.” he feels embarrassed saying it out loud but John didn't glow with pride he just blushed like it was both there second time. He sends a small smile to the teen on top of him.

John leans down and softly kisses him. Warmth filled his chest as all his blood rushed to his head. He was so dumb. He has fallen in love with JFK. John pulls back and looks at him like he hung the stars. 

Vincent lets out a startled laugh, but plays it off it and rolls his hips in time with the tiny thrusts, with a glint in his eyes, he looks up “ are you going to move?”

John growled and pulled out almost all the way before snapping his hips, fucking him in long strokes. Vincent let out a loud groan spreading his leg farther. His voice was high-pitched when he asked for more, pulling John closer by wrapping his legs around his waist.

John angled his hips and brushed Vincent's prostate, making the teen cry out and dig his nails into his biceps. He smirked as he changed his angle again to hit his bundle of nerves head on, and set a brutal pace. Vincent Moved his hands to JFKs back trying to pull him closer and scratching his back, as he arched his own back, their chest touching.

John kissed him hard and swallowed the moans. Vincent's cock brushed on JFKs stomach and one touch was all he needed to cum with a shout, clamping on John harshed, milking his cock.

John rolled off him and they both pant, catching both their breath. After a second John tapped on his chest, signaling for Vincent to lay against him, like he was a cat. He scoffed and rolled his eyes, but smiled nonetheless and rolled off his back to his side, draping his arm over John's chest. He pressed a soft kiss before having a sudden realization.

“Your dads probably heard that.”


End file.
